


View From the Top

by SegaBarrett



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Dylan had taken Romero up on his offer? A day in the life of White Pine Bay's most powerful man... maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	View From the Top

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chaosprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaosprincess/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Bates Motel, and I make no money from this.

The sun shone down through the blinds as Dylan opened one eye, then the other. He let out a yawn; his days tended to start early and end late these days.

He had been reluctant to get into this life. The first time, he had given Romero a resounding “no” when he had asked him to take the place of the Morgan siblings. All he wanted, he’d told the Sheriff, was to have a nice little legal marijuana farm. To be a good person and to help people, to never again run over someone or beat their head in with a club.

Ultimately, however, with all that had happened, all the revelations that had rocked him over the past year, he needed it.

He needed something he had control over. His whole life had slipped through his fingers, moving from place to place without anything to really grip on to, but now he had this.  
And it had him.

He reached over to slam the alarm off – it had begun playing “Benny and the Jets” rather loudly – and moved over to the shower, pulling off his night clothes and hoping under the steamy stream, humming a little to himself as he lathered.

Things were better. He could make that general statement about his life. He was getting along with Norma, and maybe even Norman. He and the kid probably wouldn’t ever be best buds, but his younger brother wasn’t trying to attack him anymore, either.

Progress.

It helped that he made more than enough to keep the motel up and running in the seasons when turn-out was low. That made him pretty valuable. 

Dylan shut off the water, climbed out and dried himself off with the towel, then got dressed.

Romero, in his pitch, had made some mention of wanting Dylan to look like a businessman, and Dylan had taken him at his word. It had worked pretty well so far – people respected him in a way they hadn’t when he’d seemed like a scraggly kid.

In the other room, his cell phone rang. 

He sighed. The mornings never gave him enough time to get ready for whatever was going to be on his plate for the day. He knew it was business – he never had much time for personal calls these days.

Dylan made his way over and picked up the phone. 

“Hey,” he greeted whoever was on the other line – it was a burner number that appeared.

“Hey,” said a voice on the other end. He recognized it as Gunner, Emma’s friend who was working for him now. Dylan thought of Gunner as a “nice kid”, even though he wasn’t much younger than Dylan; maybe nineteen or twenty. He had a strange kind of youthful exuberance that made Dylan happy to see him. If he had to hear bad news, he’d rather hear it from Gunner than from Remo – ever since things had gone south with Zane, Remo had been a pain in the ass, even though Dylan had kept him on and was paying his way. That would have to be sorted out eventually.

“I need your help. There’s an issue.”

Well, that was never a good thing to hear.

“What kind of issue, Gunner?” Dylan ran a hand over his mouth and started to peel off some lingering toothpaste.

“I probably shouldn’t talk about it over the phone. Can you come down to the warehouse?”

Dylan breathed in, thinking of the warehouse he had inherited from Jodi. He missed Jodi, sometimes, even though her whole family was seriously screwed up. Not that he was one to talk.

“Sure. I’ll be right there.”

He locked up and got into his car. What could this be? If he were watching some crime show on TV, he would be wondering if Gunner was working with the DEA or something. Maybe his plan was to lure Dylan out so then he could catch him doing something illegal. Maybe he ought to pat the kid down and see if he was wearing a wire.  
That was pretty unlikely, though. Romero ran the town, and even though the DEA had stuck their heads in recently, if everything was kept quiet there would be no reason for them to return. 

He flicked on his iPod and began to jam out to some classic rock. “Carry On Wayward Son”, specifically. Great driving music. On the way back, maybe he would toss in some “Smoke on the Water” – it had been a while.

Gunner had his head in his hands when he got there.

“When I got in, it was like this.”

Dylan took a moment to look around – “Like this” meant that pot plants had been overturned and in the center of the warehouse was a huge, spray-painted message: “We’re coming for you.”

“What does that mean?” Gunner asked. “Who’s coming?”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed.

“Nobody, Gunner. It’s fine. Let’s clean this up.”

***

Dylan’s mind was racing. Who could this message be from? Obviously he’d knocked somebody – a few people, in fact, out of business, but none of them had had any threats to make until now. Was that all this was – an idle threat? Or was someone really coming for him?

“I was sure that I locked up,” Gunner was saying, quickly, dragging his hands over his face and his eyes lighting up in worry. “They must have broken up.”

“Gunner. It’s okay,” Dylan cut in, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you did. Listen, whatever you might have heard about me, or whatever’s going around… it’s not true. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Gunner tensed a little under the touch, but slowly uncoiled. 

“I just… I heard you killed Nick Ford, man.”

Well, that much was true. But how would he begin to explain that the man had put his little brother in a box? He could barely understand it himself.

Instead, he simply told him, “Don’t believe everything you hear, kid.”

***

That didn’t change the fact that he would have to deal with it, in one way or another. The best thing to do, to start, would be to go talk to Romero. He was the one who had put him in charge of this operation, after all. He’d wanted “someone he could work with”. In a word, Romero had considered Dylan to be reasonable.

Dylan only wished that he could think the same of himself. A good deal of the time he felt as if his head was only barely above water, or like he was trying to juggle torches while sitting in a field of gasoline.

He hopped into the car after giving Gunner some reason or another. Dylan tapped on the dashboard as he drove. Maybe he needed a new car, to supplement his role as some crazy bad ass drug lord – if that was really what he was these days. He didn’t feel like one, certainly didn’t feel like he was Nick Ford. He could never see himself as someone that ruthless.

He would always be fair, he promised himself that. 

Dylan appeared in Romero’s office, trying to look as if he had completely legitimate reasons for being there. 

“Sheriff Romero will be just a moment,” his secretary told Dylan, giving him a look that indicated she could care less about whatever they were meeting about. 

Dylan moved back and took a seat, haphazardly tossing his hands into his lap. He’d wait; and while he waited, he would figure out exactly what his proposal would be. When he figured out who was behind this… did he want some sort of permanent action taken? Or did he just want the situation resolved enough that he didn’t have to watch his back in the future?

He didn’t want to turn out anything like Zane. His sister, maybe – Dylan had liked Jodi, and he was still pretty broken up about what had happened to her. Had she really wanted to avoid all the bloodshed that seemed to follow them around, or had she just been saying that in order to use Dylan, to get him to do what she needed him to do?

“The Sheriff will see you now.”

He ushered himself in and stood at the edge of the room, his arm dangling over the door in case he needed to yank the knob and get himself out of there quickly.

This was a skill he hadn’t needed, once upon a time – but given everything that had happened over the past year or so, being able to get out of dodge was necessary. Vital.

“You needed to see me about something?” Romero looked up from his paper – looked like he had been doing the crossword puzzle – with a gaze that told Dylan not to waste his time.

“There was a message. A threat,” Dylan told him, “In my greenhouse. I want, uh, to know how you’re… how you want me to proceed, about this.” His voice got slightly sarcastic. “Since we’re working together on this, and all.”

“From who?”

“If I knew that, why would I be coming to you?”

Romero tapped his desk.

“Because you’re not an idiot.” He nodded, turning it into a gesture that said in no uncertain terms that Dylan could leave now. “It’s handled.”

“Handled how?”

Romero just gestured with his chin again, and Dylan found himself outside the door.

He knew what handled meant. And if this was going to be his life, he’d have to learn to be okay with that.

***

Dylan returned to the warehouse. Gunner was sitting, seemingly waiting for him. His dog, Rex, was curled across his lap.

There was something about the look on his face, like he was so much younger than Dylan had ever been and ever would be.

“Hey,” Dylan called, “No real reason to wait up. What’s going on?” His face darkened a moment later. “Is everything okay? Did something else happen?”

“No,” Gunner said quietly, reaching down to pet the dog. “I was just waiting for you to get back. Lonely, I guess.” He tilted his head to the side.

Dylan knew how that felt – he had been lonely his entire life. 

Now, he was on top of the world. He was powerful. He had the Sheriff at his beck and call. People lived and died by Dylan’s orders.

He walked over and sat down next to Gunner, crossing his legs under him and letting out a sigh. Letting the tension all run out. 

There needed to be something more.

He turned his head and let his hand run along the softness of Rex’s fur.

He didn’t have time to think about it; that wasn’t what kingpins did. 

He leaned in and pressed his lips against Gunner’s.

It was like he was falling. But maybe he always had been. For the past twenty-two years and every day.


End file.
